Nightfall
by Ithilwen of Himring
Summary: A messenger arrives in Formenos, and Maedhros's life changes forever. Silmarillion-based.
1. Summer's Twilight

Disclaimer: The characters and settings are gratefully borrowed from the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing.

Note: As this story is set in Aman, I've chosen to use the character's Quenya names. The equivalent Sindarin forms may be found in the notes at the end of the story.

Thank you, Gwindor, for beta reading!

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Nightfall

By Ithilwen

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Chapter 1 - Summer's Twilight

On the day the messengers arrived, Nelyafinwë Maitimo had returned from the quarry early. After a brief visit to his room, where he'd washed off the stone dust from his hands, he had ascended the staircase to the roof, which had quickly become his favorite retreat almost as soon as the palace had been completed. The view faced south, overlooking the central courtyard of Formenos. When he was weary in mind and body, Maitimo loved nothing more than to look out over the city and let his thoughts drift while he idly watched the people below going about their lives: the people who'd loved his father enough to follow him into this harsh land; the people whose labor was slowly constructing the towers and plazas of the new Noldor settlement, bringing beauty to the barren and dark northern hills. 

__

Strange - even after all these years, I'm still not used to the dimness of the Treelight here, Maitimo mused as he walked over to the parapet. _It unnerves me to actually see so many stars gleaming through the soft glow when I look up. How much brighter must those stars have shined in dark Cuiviénen, where Grandfather first saw them! I wonder - does the sight of them bring back good memories to him, or bad ones? I suppose I will never know._ Sighing, he leaned on the decorative stone railing and looked out over the small city he'd played his part in fashioning.

This private rooftop retreat had been Maitimo's idea, and at first he'd been surprised that his proposal was even considered. But Grandfather Finwë had liked it, saying he already missed his palace balcony in Tirion, and Fëanáro was always eager to please his father. And so, to his astonishment, Maitimo's plans had been adopted. And the happiness he'd seen on his grandfather's face the first time Finwë had visited the simple garden Maitimo had designed had both warmed his grandson's heart, and inspired him to persist in aiding with the construction work long after his father and younger brothers turned their attentions elsewhere.

At first, sheer necessity had forced everyone to participate in the erection of buildings, but as time passed and the first essential structures were completed, Fëanáro and his sons were gradually able to resume their smithcraft, beginning with the fashioning of everyday implements and tools, and progressing later to the production of gems with which to beautify the city and its inhabitants. Now Maitimo alone of the house of Finwë continued to visit the quarry, aiding the stonecarvers chiseling out the rough blocks which would later be smoothed and shaped to fit perfectly into place in the walls of the great tower Fëanáro had ordered built in honor of Finwë. "A tower to surpass the Mindon," he'd declared it would be. Maitimo knew he had no great skill for delicate work, but at least he was strong, and the rough quarrying was something he could do well. And to his surprise, he found it satisfying in its own crude way. At least it kept him busy. Too busy to think about the life he'd left behind in Tirion, and the boyhood friend he still missed. _I wonder... Does Findekáno ever think of me now?_ Maitimo thought sadly. _I once believed I would forget him in time, but even after so many years our last argument haunts me still. Ilúvatar, why was I forced to choose between my family and my friend? Why couldn't I keep them both?_

The sudden sound of laughter brought him out of his ruminations; looking down, Maitimo saw his young nephew Tyelpinquar playing tag with two other children. The sight brought a smile to his face, but it was tinged with a bit of sadness. His brother Curufinwë's wife had been one of the first women to bear a child in their new city; although Callótë was not the only woman to give birth since their departure from Tirion, the children in their settlement were still few, and little Tyelpinquar had few playmates his own age.

__

He seems happy enough, though, Maitimo thought as he watched the youngsters racing about madly. _My brother and his wife dote upon him, and Father does, too; I never though that he would take such interest in his first grandchild, but when he is with Tyelpinquar it is as though he becomes a child again himself! I suppose all the love my young nephew receives from our family makes up in part for the lack of playmates here. He is happy, Father is happy, my brothers are happy, even Grandfather seems content here. If only I could be... _"Why do I feel so restless?" he muttered to himself.

"Well, you always were a fidgety sort, Russandol, even as a child. Quite unlike me - **I'm** never anything but tranquil. A model of decorum. No wonder Mother always liked me best."

Maitimo turned, startled, to see his younger brother Makalaurë leaning against the trunk of one of the potted trees, an impish smile on his face. "Filit! What brings you back to the family roost?" he asked in surprise.

"Food," Makalaurë replied, laughing softly as he walked over to join his brother. "And your illustrious presence, of course. Aurel and I decided we'd like some company, thought we'd come over and stay for dinner. We didn't think anyone would object to a pair of extra mouths at Grandfather's table tonight."

"Object? Of course not!" Maitimo reached out and gave his brother a brief hug, then stepped back, the better to talk. "Well, not to Aurel's presence, at any rate... What such a lovely, well-mannered girl ever saw in you, little brother, is a complete mystery. I suppose it must have been the charms of your voice that won her over in the end, against all common sense. Where is your wife, by the way?"

"Chatting with Grandfather at the moment; I'm sure she'll be joining us up here soon. I wish I'd thought to put a rooftop garden on the top of **our** house." Walking over to the parapet, Makalaurë asked, "So, big brother, who were you watching when I so rudely interrupted you? Did a pretty maid finally catch your eye?"

"Oh, she's pretty enough, but I think she might be a bit too young for me," Maitimo joked. "I think I'll leave her to our nephew." For the first time Makalaurë looked down, and spotted the children, still engrossed in their game. "He's rather short of playmates as it is; I don't think he'd appreciate losing even one - " Maitimo broke off his banter abruptly, suddenly noticing the slight tension in his younger brother's shoulders as he watched their nephew playing with his friends. "What's wrong, filit?"

"Our little brother was scarcely married a season before his wife conceived; Aurel and I have been trying for years now, with no success. It's breaking her heart; she wants a child so badly, Maitimo! And so do I." Makalaurë looked up, and Maitimo was taken aback by the sadness in his brother's eyes. He leaned out over the railing and called out loudly:

"Tyelpo, please take your friends and go play somewhere else for a while!"

The children looked up in surprise, then Tyelpinquar shrugged and nodded; gesturing to his companions to follow, he ran out of the courtyard, heading in the general direction of his parents' house.

"You didn't need to do that, Maitimo," Makalaurë said softly. "They weren't doing anything wrong."

"Did I say they were?" Maitimo replied. He put a reassuring arm around his younger brother's shoulders. "Don't worry, filit. It might seem like an eternity to you since your wedding, but you actually haven't been married all that long. Pityanárë's just being precocious again, as he has been in everything else he's ever done. Your children will come eventually, little brother, and I'm sure they'll be worth the wait. It can't be easy for Ilúvatar to fashion a fëa special enough to be **your** firstborn's; you just need to give him a bit more time." In an attempt to lighten his brother's mood again, Maitimo gently teased, "At least you've started the whole process; why, your backwards older brother hasn't even found a girl to steal his heart yet! But then, I've always been a slow learner compared to you..."

"Hardly, and you know it," Makalaurë replied. "But in truth, I **am** worried about you, Russandol. You're long past your majority now; you should have wed ages ago. I know you'll say you've not met the right person yet - but how will you ever find the girl for you if you don't go out looking for her? She's not just going to fall out of the sky into your lap, you know. And I know you've never really been happy here, although you've done your best to hide it. Father's banishment won't last forever; knowing him, I doubt he'll want to leave Formenos when it's over - but I think you should, Maitimo. For your own sake, I think you should go back to Tirion and get serious about finding a wife, and make a life of your own there."

"I have no intention of leaving my family! You, of all people, should know that - I'd be lost without my pesky younger brothers around to annoy me. And in any case, why should I go back to Tirion? There's nothing to be had there that I can't find here, filit."

"Not true - there's your old friend Findekáno. Isn't he a good enough reason to return?"

Now it was Maitimo's turn to stiffen. "What Findekáno and I had between us once is long over, Makalaurë," he replied coldly. "You know that."

"No, I don't know that," Makalaurë replied firmly. "I know you miss him. Don't you think he might miss you, too? He disapproved of your coming here with Father - so what! Are you really going to let an old quarrel keep you both apart forever? That would be crazy, brother! At least give him a chance to put things right between the two of you again."

"He's had that chance already. There's been nothing preventing him from coming north to apologize to me."

"Except his own wounded pride, perhaps," Makalaurë responded softly. "Maybe he believes that you wronged him, and has been waiting all this time for you to ride south to issue your apology. One thing I've learned from my marriage, brother is that there are times when who's in the right doesn't matter in the end. Sometimes it's better to give in and apologize, even though you feel you were the one who was wronged, than to insist on standing on your principals at the cost of remaining estranged. Isn't Findekáno's friendship worth bending a bit to keep?"

"I think my meddling younger brother should tend to his own affairs, and stop trying to manage my life as well as his own," Maitimo replied, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice. "If I want advice, I'll ask for it. And I don't recall asking you for yours."

"Maitimo, don't be this way!" Makalaurë pleaded. "I've only said what I have because I care about you. I didn't mean to upset you. What you choose to do with your life is your decision to make. I promise I won't bring the subject up again. But please - consider what I've already said. Don't just disregard it because I made you angry."

Ignoring his brother's words, Maitimo turned his attention to one of the small potted fruit trees. "Do you have any idea what Grandfather is planning to prepare for dinner, filit? Perhaps some plums would go well with the meal." He began to look over the fruit intently, although it was obviously not yet ripe.

Makalaurë sighed. _Brother, I do love you, _he thought as he watched Maitimo inspecting the still-green plums, _but you are exasperating in your stubbornness!_ Aloud, he said only, "I think those might still be a little tart, Russandol. And I have no idea what Grandfather has chosen to make. Perhaps we should pick some fresh flowers to decorate the table, instead." He began to clip blossoms for a bouquet, careful not to spoil the appearance of the flowerbed by taking too many blooms from one place; after a moment, Maitimo turned his attention away from the plum tree in favor of cutting sprigs of honeysuckle, and for a long while the two worked side-by-side in companionable silence.

When they straightened up at last, arms laden with fragrant flowers, it was to find that they were being watched. The woman observing their labors had crept behind them so quietly they'd been unaware of her presence. "So my husband has decided to become a gardener at last," she said. "It must be your influence at work, Maitimo; at home I can't get him to do so much as pull a single weed from the herb bed!"

"Aurel!" Makalaurë exclaimed, and Maitimo said almost simultaneously, "On the contrary, sister, it was the thought of your beauty that inspired my shiftless younger brother to take up such hard labor! He thought you'd appreciate the flowers, but your loveliness puts them to shame. No one will be looking at our pitiful bouquets while you are nearby."

"Husband," Aurel replied, smiling as she reached out to take Makalaurë's hand, "did you know your brother is such an immoderate flatterer?"

"I'm speaking nothing but the truth," Maitimo insisted. "It's good to see you again, Aurel. I'm glad you and Makalaurë decided to come by today."

"So am I," Aurel replied. "We've been meaning to visit for some time, but we've both been so busy... Of course, the work we both do is nowhere near as demanding as your stone quarrying, Maitimo, but it keeps us occupied just the same."

"But not today," Makalaurë added. "Today, at last, we're all together again - or nearly so. Only our little brother Curufinwë's absent, but I suppose that can't be helped. Do you think he'd bring his family over to join us if we sent a message to him now, Russandol?"

"I suppose it's worth - what is that?" Maitimo had been looking at Aurel when he saw the cloud of dust out of the corner of his eye; turning, he focused all his attention on the unusual sight, straining to make out details in the faint light. Following his gaze, the other two had also turned to watch.

"I think... Yes, it's riders, approaching from the south," Makalaurë finally said. "Ambarussa, perhaps?"

"No, they wouldn't have ridden out in that direction - the best game is in the foothills, not out on the plain. And besides, whoever it is is riding much too sedately to be our brothers. When have Ambarussa ever traveled so slowly? They always gallop as though they're deliberately trying to break their necks," Maitimo replied. "Is that some sort of standard the lead rider is bearing? I can't quite make it out."

"I believe I can," Aurel said, very quietly; at her tone, both Maitimo and Makalaurë turned to stare at her, concerned. "I think we need to get your Grandfather. Unless I miss my mark, the lead rider is Eönwë."

This time, when they looked, both Makalaurë and Maitimo were able to see the device of Manwë borne on the approaching herald's standard. Together, the three Noldor turned and quietly descended from the rooftop garden. After years of peaceful neglect, it appeared the Valar had again taken an interest in Finwë and his eldest, rebellious son. His heart filled with a vague foreboding, Maitimo suddenly found himself wishing that they had not done so. _Grandfather is the wisest of all our people,_ he kept telling himself as they searched for Finwë. _He has always known what to do before; he will know what to do now. Everything will be all right._

* * * * * * *

"Eönwë will need to leave for Taniquetil tomorrow, if he is to arrive in time for the Festival. Curufinwë Fëanáro, will you obey Lord Manwë's summons and return with his herald to his Halls on Taniquetil when the time comes for Eönwë to depart?"

Finwë looked upon his eldest child with a loving father's concern. Fëanáro, he had thought, had changed greatly over the long years of his exile - and those changes had been for the better. As he had watched his troubled son planning and later supervising the construction of the small city of Formenos, Finwë could almost have imagined his firstborn had been transported backwards in time; once more he was Mahtan's young apprentice, filled with enthusiasm, impatient with excitement, brimming with the fierce creative fire for which his mother had named him. That flame had burned lower over the subsequent years, but as it ebbed, the restlessness that had always driven Fëanáro seemingly gave way to contentment. For the first time in his life, Finwë thought his beloved son actually appeared truly happy, and he had rejoiced. But then Eönwë had arrived bearing the summons of Manwë, and Fëanáro's contentment had instantly vanished like a poorly-fastened cloak abruptly slipping off its wearer's shoulder, leaving him naked in his distress. Now, as he watched his son pacing about the room, tension apparent in his every movement, his eyes again filled with anger and sullen resentment, Finwë silently mourned. _Once you worked gladly at Aulë's side; he was as much your friend as your teacher,_ he thought sadly as he waited for Fëanáro to answer his question. _Now, the Valar's simple summons to Festival drives you into a rage. Does the hurt they caused you when they judged you guilty and banished you to this place truly matter more to you in the end than all those long years of friendship? Can you still not find it in your heart to forgive?_

Fëanáro did not answer for many long minutes, and Finwë's heart filled with fear as he waited in the silence. Was it possible that his angry son might willfully disobey the direct order of Manwë_? What will the Valar do if you choose to openly defy them, Curufinwë? I do not know, and I do not wish to find out! Please, bank your fire this once, Fëanáro, and yield to Lord Manwë's will!_ Finwë begged silently.

"What choice do I have?" Fëanáro replied at last. Though his voice was quiet, Finwë shuddered at the sight of the darkness that suddenly seemed to fill his son's angry eyes. "Though Aman may be vast, in the end it is but a cage, a kennel in which the lordly Valar have quartered those hounds whose baying voices pleased them most, that they may be close at hand to simper and fawn before them. What dog so tightly leashed would dare disobey its master's command? I am no fool, to provoke such a painful beating as they doubtless would administer should I, already a rebellious cur in their eyes, fail to come promptly to heel. I will go. I will attend the Festival. For your sake, Father, I will even reconcile with Nolofinwë, provided he recognizes my position as the firstborn and thus your rightful heir. But that is all I will do. The Valar can force me to attend - but they cannot force me to celebrate my captivity, no matter how brutally they may jerk on my collar. I will wear no princely raiment when I depart. And I will not bring the Silmarils - those I would leave here in your care, Father. The Valar already have the mighty Trees to content them; by what right do they lay claim to my small lights also? And as soon as the Festival is over, I will return directly home to Formenos. If I must dwell in their cage, then I will sit in the corner farthest from their side. And perhaps, one day, this lowly cur may yet find a way to slip between their bars and escape to freedom at last."

"Freedom?" Finwë replied. "You think you would find freedom, if only you could flee from Aman and the Valar's care? Curufinwë, my bright Fëanáro, you know **nothing** of the darkness in which our people dwelt before Oromë found us, or the constant cloud of fear that muffled our spirits as we struggled to protect ourselves from the horrors lurking in the woods and waters surrounding our birthplace. Our life in the shadowed lands was the life of a hunted animal; only when the Eldar finally arrived on the shores of Aman did we at last know the meaning of freedom."

"And yet, many chose to remain behind, to reject the safety you pleaded with them to accept. Perhaps for all their dangers, those lands offer our kind something this bright, secure, and tranquil place lacks," Fëanáro replied softly. "If the price of safety is abasement, then perhaps the price is too high for some of us to pay. I bow to no lord save you, Father - and I never will. And if Manwë demands that I grovel before him, then he is my jailer, not my protector."

Finwë turned away to gaze into the fire, that his son might not see the tears forming in his eyes. "He was appointed Lord over Arda by the One who made us all; acknowledgement of that fact is all that Manwë requires of you, nothing more. But I know in my heart it is not all that he desires. He wishes to be your friend, Fëanáro. Whatever faults the Valar may have, Curufinwë, they love us, and only wish our happiness. Why do you refuse to see that?"

"If they truly wished my happiness, then they would let me be," Fëanáro said bitterly. "It is little enough to ask for - and yet they will never grant such a petition from me, and we both know it. I would ask you to remain here, to watch over your loyal people and to protect my Silmarils, until I can return from the Festival and resume my rightful place by your side. And perhaps one day, when the decree of banishment is finally lifted and the inhabitants of Formenos are once more free to travel where they will, you will be able to return to Tirion and take up your crown again, as I know you long to do, and then perhaps you might convince Manwë and the other Valar to leave me here in peace."

__

You may indeed come back to my side soon, Finwë silently despaired as he watched his son stride quickly from the royal chambers to begin his preparations for the next day's journey, _but I know now that I have_ _lost you, despite my efforts to save you from yourself. I have failed at the most important task of my life - but it is not I who will bear the consequences of that failure, but you, of all my children the one dearest to my heart. Fëanáro, I am sorry._

* * * * * * *

Later that evening, Maitimo was walking down the hallway to his own modest room when he thought he heard the sound of weeping coming from his grandfather's chambers. The sound was muffled and faint, and he paused for an instant, confused, before shaking his head and chiding himself. _Grandfather is a King,_ he said to himself sternly, _and never in my life has he ever behaved less than regally. He would never cry! It's only the wind I'm hearing, whistling through the shutters on the windows. If you can mistake that for weeping, Nelyafinwë Maitimo, it only shows that your wits are even more scattered than usual, and it's definitely past time to get some sleep._ And then he continued on to his own room, putting the sound out of his mind as he thought about the tasks he was planning for the morning, after he'd seen Eönwë and the other travelers off on their journey and was again free to resume his duties at the quarry.

(To Be Continued)

Notes:

The names of the characters used in this story are all Quenya, and the meanings of nearly all of them can be found in the essay "The Shibboleth of Fëanor," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ When more than one name is listed for a character, the first name is the father-name, and the second is the mother-name. The Sindarin equivalents of these names are as follows:

Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor

Nelyafinwë Maitimo (nicknamed Russandol) - Maedhros

Makalaurë - Maglor

Ambarussa - Amrod and Amras (Fëanor's twins share the same mother-name)

Findekáno - Fingon

Nolofinwë - Fingolfin

Tyelpinquar - Celebrimbor (from the essay "Of Dwarves and Men," _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12), _p 318) (Tyelpo is a shortened form)

Maglor's and Curufin's wives are mentioned in the essay "Of Dwarves and Men," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ However, we are never told anything significant about them, other than that Curufin's wife remained behind in Aman when the Noldor rebelled; they are not even given any names. I have therefore had to choose appropriate names for them. The name Aurel means 'morning star,' and Callöté is Quenya for 'shining flower'. Thanks go to Artanis for suggesting these names.

Filit - Quenya for "little bird"; an affectionate nickname Maedhros has given to his brother Maglor.

Pityanárë - Quenya for "little flame"; and affectionate nickname Maedhros has given his brother Curufin.


	2. The Kindler's Gift

Disclaimer: The characters and settings are gratefully borrowed from the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing.

Note: As this story is set in Aman, I've chosen to use the character's Quenya names. The equivalent Sindarin forms may be found in the notes at the end of the story.

Thank you, Gwindor, for beta reading!

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Nightfall

By Ithilwen

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Chapter 2 - The Kindler's Gift

The next few days were striking in their ordinariness. Maitimo was surprised when he learned that only his father would be journeying to Lord Manwë's halls for the Festival, but Finwë had told Eönwë that he intended to remain in Formenos until the ban upon Fëanáro was lifted and his eldest son was free to travel where he willed, and the rest of the Noldor in Formenos were apparently of like mind - or at least they saw no reason to undertake the rough journey, and to mingle with the potentially hostile people of Tirion, when they could celebrate perfectly well in the comfort of their own city. After Eönwë's party, together with Fëanáro, had departed, life in Formenos returned to its usual patterns - but at a much slower pace, as though everyone's attention was partially focused southeast, half-listening for any news. Maitimo resumed his labors at the quarry, but the stonecutters spent more time speculating about the probable events happening on Taniquetil than they did chiseling out the stone blocks for Fëanáro's grand tower, and little progress was made. No one else in the city seemed in the mood to work, either. Tyelkormo and the twins spent their days hunting for game, while Carnistir and Curufinwë Atarinkë spent their mornings at Fëanáro's forge, and their afternoons in idleness. Makalaurë was scarcely to be seen; when Maitimo did finally encounter him, four days after Fëanáro had left, he claimed to be busy digging a new vegetable bed for Aurel, but Maitimo saw the faint blush on his brother's face, and realized that Makalaurë and his wife had found their own private way of celebrating the Valar's Festival of the Gathering of Fruits. 

Only King Finwë kept faithfully to his usual routine; but although he seemed outwardly untroubled and went about his normal duties as always, those closest to him noticed a certain change in his carriage, an ever-so slight slump to his shoulders that they had not seen before, and in rare unguarded moments a brief glimpse of tension and worry could be seen in his normally sparkling blue-grey eyes. But he said nothing about whatever might be troubling his heart, and neither Maitimo nor any of his younger brothers were bold enough to pressure their grandsire into revealing his inner worries - indeed, in their hearts they could scarcely believe that so mighty a person as Finwë could truly be troubled by anything. And so the days passed, each a strange mixture of languor and a vague, uneasy anticipation, until the climax of the Festival was reached and the world changed utterly.

Maitimo was finishing the rough shaping of a particularly large block of marble when it happened. It was the time of the mingling of the lights, when Laurelin began to wane while silver Telperion waxed to full brightness; the other stonemasons had already retired to rejoin their families, but Maitimo had lingered, unwilling to leave before he had completed the last few necessary strokes required to remove a large lump on one side of the otherwise square block. As he rhythmically chiseled away at the stubborn stone, hurrying as much as he dared (for he knew that Finwë would be wroth if he returned so late that he missed the family meal), Maitimo at first attributed the fading of the golden hue of the marble to the normal waning of Laurelin, and paid it no mind. But then he noticed that the intensity of the mingled light was actually decreasing, rather than remaining constant as Telperion brightened in step with Laurelin's fading (as was usual), and its hue was changing rapidly – far too rapidly – from golden to cool silver. _Something's wrong,_ Maitimo realized suddenly, feeling an inexplicable dread take hold of his heart. _Laurelin has never waned so quickly before!_ Abruptly forgetting about the block, he laid his tools aside and turned to head towards the ladder he needed to climb to leave the quarry pit, intent now only on returning home as quickly as possible. _Grandfather Finwë was born at Cuiviénenitself, and saw many troubles before he came to Aman,_ he said to himself as he half-ran towards the ladder, _surely he will know what we should do next – send a messenger to the Valar, I suppose, to ask what has happened to Laurelin. Yes, Grandfather will know what to do – and surely this strange ebbing of the Golden Tree cannot be dangerous! After all, the Valar told Grandfather that our people would always be safe here, and when have they ever broken their word? _But despite this reassuring thought, the uneasiness in Maitimo's heart grew with every step he took.

Maitimo had covered less than half the distance to the ladder when he realized, to his horror, that Telperion's silvery light was also beginning to fade – and fast. The shred of self-control he'd managed to hang onto gave way in that instant to sheer terror, and he bolted the last few paces to the ladder in a blind panic. Quickly, he grabbed the smooth wood rungs in his dust-covered hands and began to climb – but he'd no sooner placed his feet on the rungs to begin the long ascent when Telperion's now-dim light flickered and died, leaving Maitimo, for the first time in his life, surrounded by total darkness. Completely blind now, his heart pounding in his chest, he clung to the ladder in fear – and then froze, stunned, when in his desperate, searching attempts to see something, **anything**, in the impenetrable blackness that now surrounded him, he accidentally threw his head back and saw Varda's stars in their full radiance for the first time.

As a small boy, Maitimo had often looked up at the few faint stars which could be seen shining through the veil of Treelight that filled the sky of Tirion, and wondered how they must have appeared to the first Elves awakening on the dark shores of the far-distant Mere of Awakening. "Varda, who loves and cares for us all," his mother had often told him as she put him to bed, "made them just for us, so that the first people waking at Cuiviénen would see them shining brightly in the darkness, and not be afraid." After she finished her story and gently tucked him in, he'd lie there in his bed, stray beams of Treelight sneaking past the edges of the shutters to bathe his room in a faint silvery glow, and try to imagine himself waking at Cuiviénen, to see the warm and friendly glow of Varda's greatest creations welcoming him into the world.

Now he finally knew what vision had greeted the oldest of his kin when they had first opened their eyes so long ago - and he marveled that they had not died of terror on the spot, fleeing the awful sight for the safety of Mandos' Halls. For the stars were set against a background of nothingness - a blackness so deep and enveloping that Maitimo wondered how even such light as Varda's jewels emitted could pierce it. And yet they did, somehow - thousands of them, sprayed across the sky, the brighter ones forming dazzling patterns, the fainter ones drifting like a ribbon of smoke across the heavens. Their light was bright, yes - but not at all as he had imagined it to be: not warm and comforting, like the Trees, but remote and cold - so very cold! For a long moment he could only stare upwards mutely, shivering at the sight of Varda's power made fully manifest at last.

Finally, with an effort, Maitimo shook off his shock and forced himself to look away from the heavens, closing his eyes and climbing the ladder solely by feel. _They are not so dazzling as a Silmaril, _he told himself firmly as he climbed_, nor so piercing as Varda's own eyes, after all. It is foolish to let myself be so unnerved by the mere sight of stars! And if the Trees do not return to their former radiance quickly, we will soon become grateful even for such chill light as they provide._

It took a long time for Maitimo to make his way from the quarry to Formenos, for he could not see to run, or even to walk quickly. But by the time he'd finally managed to travel the short distance to the city, he noticed that his eyes were apparently adapting to the gloom, and he was able to find his way more easily through the darkened and empty streets. As he approached the central courtyard near the palace, the streets slowly became filled with confused and badly frightened people, all heading in the same direction as himself, with the same goal in their minds - to find Finwë, in the hopes that their King would somehow make things right again. Maitimo, to his surprise, found people looking to him for guidance for the first time in his life. Realizing his obligations as a prince of the Noldor and as his father's heir, he forced the fear from his own voice, and encouraged the crowd to stay calm and keep heading towards the courtyard, where Finwë would doubtless soon reveal to them a plan of action. Yes, it was dark, he said, cloaking his own panic behind a steady voice, but they were in no immediate danger - and surely they did not believe the Valar would forsake them? So he spoke, over and over, until at last he arrived outside the courtyard square to find his family - and light. Torches and oil lamps had been placed at intervals along the courtyard walls, and a large fire was burning near the middle of the yard; at the sight of the familiar warm glow of the flames, Maitimo felt something inside him relax. And Maitimo also saw, to his surprise, that another reassuring light was shining out over the courtyard as well, for his grandfather stood on the rooftop where the people could see him, the Silmarils bound to his brow, their brilliance piercing the darkness. Finwë was speaking calmly to the nervous throng, telling his subjects to return to their homes where they could light lamps and build up their hearthfires and wait for further news in comfort and safety. He went on to remind them that, regardless of the absence of the Treelight, they were still in Aman, and under the protection of the Powers of Arda, to whom he soon would be sending a messenger. His family, Finwë assured the people, would arm themselves and watch over the city until the darkness was lifted - there was no reason to be afraid. And gradually, his reassurances began to have the desired effect. The tension in the crowd slowly began to recede, and the people began to disperse and return to their homes. Finally, the crowd thinned enough that Maitimo was able to weave his way through it to reach the main doors of the house and slip inside.

The house was dim, but in the comfort of the familiar surroundings Maitimo was almost able to convince himself that this was just due to closing the shutters; he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor and inner walls as he moved, determined not to allow the sight of the darkness filling the open windows to shatter this fragile and welcome illusion. Arriving at his room, he reached for the sword and armor his father had crafted for him so long ago, remembering his grandfather's promise to the Noldor that the House of Finwë would stand guard over Formenos. _Although surely there can be nothing we need to defend ourselves against here?_ Maitimo thought as he donned his arms. _There have never been any fell creatures in these lands, save only Melkor, and he has fled Aman to escape Manwë's anger and Mandos' bonds. What use will a sword be against the darkness outside? It cannot be slain by steel, after all._ But the feeling of the sword hilt in his hand comforted him nonetheless as he continued upwards to meet his grandfather. 

Finwë was still standing tall and proud, looking out from the parapet, when Maitimo entered the garden; only a few people lingered uneasily in the previously crowded yard below, still unwilling to forsake the light of the slowly dying fire. For a moment Maitimo quietly stood and admired his grandfather, so masterful and fearless, silhouetted against the glittering sky. _Of course Grandfather's not afraid,_ he realized, _for unlike most of us here, he's seen this before. He grew up under this dim and icy light, after all, at Cuiviénen. How ashamed our panic must have made him feel!_ But Finwë turned towards him as Maitimo began to walk once more, the sound of his bootheels hitting the marble revealing his presence, and Maitimo was dismayed at the hint of worry he could now see in his grandfather's eyes. _He does not understand what is happening either! His stance, his speech - it was all an act. He managed to hide it from the crowd, but Grandfather is just as bewildered as the rest of us._ And Maitimo began to feel the fear building up within his breast again, despite the radiance of the Silmarils that shone on him from his grandfather's brow. 

"So, Nelya, you've finally made it back," Finwë said to him. "And you've armed yourself - good. It's merely a foolish gesture, of course, for there's nothing to fight - but gestures are important at times like these. People will feel better when they see our family patrolling Formenos, never mind the fact that we're not actually doing anything of note. You did arrive in time to hear my promise to them, that we will watch over the city?" Maitimo nodded wordlessly and Finwë quickly continued, "Good. I've already sent a messenger off to Manwë, and your brothers out into the streets; I want you to join them. Just walk around acting confident, so people can see you're not afraid, that's all you need to do. In the unlikely event that you should spot something unusual, report back to me at once. I need to stay here where our people can find me, to forestall another panic, so I'm depending on all of you to act as my eyes and ears."

"I'll follow your orders, Grandfather, of course." But Maitimo found he could not bring himself to move, for that would mean leaving the comforting light behind in order to walk beneath the frigid stars again; he'd never before rejoiced in the beauty of the Silmarils so much as he did at that moment. 

Finwë watched patiently, then gently prodded his eldest grandson when he still showed no signs of moving. "Go on, Nelyafinwë. Our people need to see their princes now. And though the city may seem strange to you at first without the Treelight to illuminate it, you'll soon find that Varda's light, different though it may be, is in no way inferior to Yavanna's." Maitimo flushed slightly at the mild rebuke he heard in his grandfather's voice; with an effort of will, he forced himself to turn away and head for the staircase.

__

I am sorry, child, for I know you are afraid, Finwë thought silently as he watched Maitimo reluctantly cross the now-deserted courtyard, stopping to grab a torch before heading out into the empty and silent streets. _If it were up to me, I would have let you all stay here, huddled around the Silmarils, while I patrolled the city. But a King must think of the welfare of his people above all else - and right now they need to know that I am here, watching over them, and that their princes are bravely safeguarding their homes and families. And so I must send you forth from the light again. Would that your father were here also! Formenos needs a Spirit of Fire right now._

He reached up and took off the circlet bearing the Silmarils. They blazed in the darkness, and at the sight Finwë smiled faintly. How foresighted his Fëanáro had been, to catch and bind the Treelight so! He was convinced that the sight of that familiar light had done more to quell his subjects' fears than all his reassuring words. _Perhaps I should ask Curufinwë Atarinkë to build a support for them,_ Finwë mused, _if the Treelight does not soon return. We could position it to allow the Silmarils to shine over the entire city. It will not be enough light to illuminate the streets and avenues, but it should be brilliant enough to embolden people's hearts. For now, though, I think they are best returned to their hold. As long as my people remain inside their homes, wearing these is unnecessary - and tiring. I had not realized just how heavy this circlet is! But when has my Fëanáro ever been stingy; of course he'd use only the most lavish setting to mount his most beautiful creations... _ He stood there for a long, long time, lost in thought, remembering the joy that had been on Fëanáro's face that day when his son had first revealed the Silmarils to him. Finally, still smiling, Finwë turned to leave the rooftop garden, having decided to return the Silmarils to the secure underground vault his son had built to house the family's most precious artifacts. Once they were locked away, he would return to the rooftop and gaze up at the stars and remember the Valier who'd fashioned them, and who watched over the Noldor still. _The heavens sparkle with the light of Varda's eyes... It may be dark, yes - but this is not Cuiviénen. We are not forgotten, _he said to himself as he descended. _The Valar will watch over us, and protect us; they do not break their word. As long as I can keep my people calm until the light is restored, everything will be all right._

(To Be Continued)

Notes:

The names of the characters used in this story are all Quenya, and the meanings of nearly all of them can be found in the essay "The Shibboleth of Fëanor," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ When more than one name is listed for a character, the first name is the father-name, and the second is the mother-name. The Sindarin equivalents of these names are as follows:

Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor

Nelyafinwë Maitimo (nicknamed Russandol) - Maedhros

Makalaurë - Maglor

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Carnistir - Caranthir

Curufinwë Atarinkë - Curufin

Maglor's and Curufin's wives are mentioned in the essay "Of Dwarves and Men," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ However, we are never told anything significant about them, other than that Curufin's wife remained behind in Aman when the Noldor rebelled; they are not even given any names. I have therefore had to choose appropriate names for them. The name Aurel means 'morning star,' and Callöté is Quenya for 'shining flower'. Thanks go to Artanis for suggesting these names.


	3. Dark Victory

Disclaimer: The characters and settings are gratefully borrowed from the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing.

Note: As this story is set in Aman, I've chosen to use the character's Quenya names. The equivalent Sindarin forms may be found in the notes at the end of the story.

Thank you, Gwindor, for beta reading!

****

Nightfall

By Ithilwen

****

Chapter 3 - Dark Victory

At first it felt strange, walking alone through the quiet streets, now lit only by the flickering torch in his hand, the soft glows emanating from the windows and doorways of the houses and shops, and the cool brilliance of the stars. But as he headed away from the palace towards the outer edges of the town, Maitimo felt his fear gradually begin to lessen. Now that the first shock had worn off, he found to his surprise that he was beginning to see a strange, wild beauty in the darkened sky and the fierce glint of the stars he'd previously only glimpsed faintly through the shimmering light of the Trees. Voices echoed softly all around him, people talking and singing, and occasionally even laughing, as families gathered together around their hearths to soak in the warmth and light from their fires. Now and then he smelled the aromas of food cooking; occasionally he stopped to talk briefly with a person looking out from a door or window, whose attention had been caught by the sound of his footsteps or the glimmer of his torch. To his surprise, Maitimo even came across small numbers of people walking calmly through the city; a few of these folk had been born at Cuiviénen, and were therefore familiar with the strangeness that had settled over the land when the Treelight failed, but most, like Maitimo himself, had been born in Aman. As the time passed uneventfully, their initial terror had slowly given way to curiosity, and they had timidly ventured forth from their homes to admire the stars.

__

Grandfather was right; this light is not bright and warm, but it is more than enough to see by. Varda made it for us, after all, Maitimo found himself thinking as he gradually approached the northern edge of the city and looked out at the now-darkened foothills. _We could get used to living under it, in time._ But a small tendril of dread still remained stubbornly rooted within his heart, for the Trees had never gone dark before, and try though he might, he could not make himself believe that the Valar had deliberately chosen to extinguish them. After all, the Valar had brought the Eldar to Aman in part to share the Treelight with them; why would they suddenly withdraw that gift now? It did not seem likely that they would do so merely so that the Eldar could view the stars properly again after their long separation from them. Something had gone wrong, and though Maitimo wanted to believe the Valar would protect them from any possible threat, he also remembered that the people of Formenos were exiles now. _They wouldn't safeguard Tirion and Alqualondë and the other coastal settlements while abandoning us to our fate,_ he said to himself firmly. _After all, even Father's banishment is only temporary - and it is only Father who angered them, not the rest of us. They haven't forgotten us, they **won't** forget us..._ But try though he did, Maitimo was unable to uproot that last, lingering bit of doubt. To distract himself, he studied the heavens, trying to pick out the old, familiar star patterns he'd learned as a child in Tirion and which were now almost totally unrecognizable, their key stars half-hidden within a swarm of lesser lights. 

He'd spotted the Butterfly, and the Fishhook, and was searching for the tight cluster of the Netted Stars when he felt it: a slowly rising sense of dread. Bewildered, Maitimo looked about, at first seeing nothing to explain the growing sense of menace that had begun to steal over him. Finally, he looked south - and to his horror saw that, rapidly and inexorably, the southern stars were going out. Something was sweeping towards Formenos, a strange cloud of Unlight that was quickly covering the sky, and a wave of fear seemed to emanate from it like some noxious fume. As Maitimo watched, the people began to leave their houses, pushing and shoving past each other, fleeing northwards in terror.

__

"In the unlikely event that you should spot something unusual, report back to me at once," Grandfather said. I have to get back home! Maitimo began to run, fighting his way through the panic-stricken people, desperately attempting to return to Finwë's palace. But each step brought him closer to the enveloping blackness, and as the Unlight continued to cover the sky he felt his own fear steadily rising, until each footfall was a massive effort of will. And then he noticed that it wasn't merely the stars that were going out; now the buildings were disappearing too, one by one, smothered in a thick cloak of absolute darkness...

He never remembered turning to flee. Indeed, Maitimo was later able to recall very little of what happened next; his mind was filled only with fragmented images and sensations that formed no coherent pattern. The Sickle of the Valar, hanging low in the sky, suddenly going out, defeated by the Darkness. Streamers of the repellent Unlight reaching out to envelop and smother him, his torch's light abruptly snuffed, with only the undiminished heat he still felt on his hand providing proof that its flames still burned. Stumbling for an eternity, blind and terrified, through a completely lightless world. Tripping and falling repeatedly, while feeling his heart pounding so strongly in his chest that he was sure it was going to burst. The disembodied voices of other people, screaming and crying in the blackness all around him, as they, like he, struggled to wrest their way free of the suffocating nothingness that had entrapped them all.

Finally, the last few shreds of reason were torn from him by the Dark, and he gave in to his panic. Reduced to the level of a terrified, witless animal, Maitimo ran through the blackness, heedless of everything but his terror, until finally he could run no more. Exhausted, utterly numb, mind blank with fear, the sword he bore at his waist forgotten, he collapsed shaking onto the ground and waited there helplessly for death to come and claim him.

* * * * * * *

Finwë was halfway up the staircase when he felt the strange sense of foreboding overtake him.

He'd just finished returning the Silmarils to their snug underground hold. After several lingering moments spent admiring the many other wonders his gifted son had created, Finwë had begun the long walk back up from the deep hold, lamp held securely in one hand. It was time he returned to the roof; though he doubted that many of his people would have ventured out from their homes yet, he knew it was important that he be in a place where those few who had could easily see him, his presence providing reassurance in the new (to them) shadowy world Formenos had been cast into. And even more important, he needed to be there to keep watch over his city, to protect it from -

__

The Hunter. Finwë stopped, startled. Where had **that** thought come from? This was Aman, not Middle Earth, and his childhood was many ages distant now... Now was no time for such foolish notions! Shaking his head ruefully, he continued up the stone staircase - only to stop again, as a slowly building sense of unreasoning dread filled his heart. A dread he now recognized, for he'd felt it before, long ago, when he had lived along the shores of dark Cuiviénen...

He remembered the hideous sounds that sometimes echoed out of the shadowed forests, and the inky shapes that raced across the stars, and most of all, the fear that prompted his kin to huddle together for security around their small hearths. "Stay close to the fire, little brother, or one day the Hunter might just snatch you away from us!" Aldwë had often warned him when he was small. But his beloved older brother had not heeded his own advice; Aldwë was bold, and curious, and would occasionally roam far from the shores of Cuiviénen while intent on his quarry. The time came when he set forth in pursuit of a deer, and did not return. And a young Finwë had watched as the light slowly dimmed in his parents' eyes with each new turn of the stars that marked his elder brother's passing; even the new radiance that shone from their younger son's face when Finwë had at last returned from Aman to tell the others of his tribe of the wonders he'd seen in that place of light had not rekindled it. They had chosen to remain behind at Cuiviénen rather than journey with their surviving son to Aman, for the shadows of that land mirrored the ones inside their sorrowing hearts.

It had been many years since Finwë had felt such a malevolent touch on his spirit, but he recognized it now. _Something is coming to Formenos,_ he thought; _something evil,_ _that menaces my city and my kin. And I cannot cower beside the fire now, as I did in my childhood, for we in Formenos dwell far from the safety of Taniquetil. The responsibility for my people's security resides with me, and I dare not fail them. Whatever the cost might prove to be, I must attempt to drive this thing away! Varda, help me!_ Knowing he needed to arm himself, Finwë turned and began to descend into the vault again; to his surprise, he found the sense of dread and imminent doom fading steadily as he went deeper into the ground. When he arrived in the vault, he quickly looked about for weapons. Finwë had disapproved of Fëanáro's swordcrafting, and out of respect Fëanáro had reluctantly given it up, but surely there would be at least one good blade lying about unused. Or a spear, such as his grandson Tyelkormo favored for hunting boar...

He found a sword. Finwë lifted it, feeling the balance and heft of the blade. A good weapon; better than the one he'd wielded during the Great Journey, and that had been deadly enough. His initial fear for his people was now giving way to anger; with the lethal steel securely held in his right hand, Finwë resumed his ascent, steadfastly ignoring the sense of horror that slowly built as he ascended to the surface. 

When at last he emerged into the courtyard, Finwë thought he was ready. He was, after all, a veteran of many battles against the Hunter's foul minions, fought during the long march to the western shoreline, all hotly contested under the same silver starlight that now shone over Aman. But he did not emerge into the clean starlight he had expected, but into a Darkness which quickly flowed around his body and surrounded him, cutting off all light. He tensed, alert, sword held ready - but he could not see to strike.

"So, little king, you would challenge me then?"

Finwë whirled, turning right towards the sound, but saw nothingness. _Melkor!_ he realized, dismayed. But he tried to keep any hint of fear from entering his voice. "You should leave while you still can, foul one. Manwë will - "

"Do nothing," Melkor chuckled; this time, the voice emanated from the left. Whirling again, Finwë lashed out blindly, but the blade contacted nothing. "Manwë is cowering on Taniquetil, helpless and afraid. Why, he's nearly as blind as you are, little king! For I have destroyed the Valar's precious light; even now they sit weeping at the foot of two shriveled husks. **I** am the lord of this darkness, and you will now bow before me and swear me fealty - if, that is, you wish to go on living."

"You will not find me so easy to kill," Finwë spat, voice defiant though his heart pounded in mingled rage and fear. "And I will never bow before you, nor shall any member of my kin!"

"Foolish creature, most of your kin already call me Lord! True, your own children and their children have not yet prostrated themselves before me, for they fled like the cravens they are, abandoning you to my mercies. But that is no matter; I will return to deal with them at my leisure another time. Yes, I will return, and when I do I shall mold them into more pleasing shapes - just as I once did to your brother Aldwë. Oh, little king, you would not believe the screams he uttered while I was improving him - but in the end he was grateful for all the care I lavished on him, and dwelt submissive and content within my stronghold. You should have seen all the children he fathered in my service! Your nieces and nephews outnumber the sand grains on the beaches of Aman - or they did, before the Valar, whom you revere so much, so cruelly butchered most of them. Why you show such devotion to those merciless slaughterers of your family, I will never understand. But that is no matter. The Valar have befuddled your heart, that is all, and I can easily set you right again once you have acknowledged my authority. Now kneel. My patience is wearing thin."

Finwë was almost grateful for the darkness now, for it hid from Melkor's view the tears streaming down his face. But he was careful to let no hint of his grief touch his voice. "No. I will never kneel to you, nor shall any of my children. You are the Lord of nothing save folly. And though the Trees may shine no more, their Light now dwells within our hearts, and no horrors you unleash shall ever succeed in driving it out of us."

"This grows tiresome," Melkor replied. "I could, if I so desired, soon forcibly bend you to my will - but I now perceive that you are hardly worth the effort to teach. And I have other business in this place, which I should be attending to. So I will now leave you to the company of my companion. I do not think you will find it as enjoyable as my own, but since you have so clearly made your choice..." And then the voice went silent, and Finwë found himself standing alone in the impenetrable blackness.

He stood ready, still utterly blind but alert, listening intently, waiting for the sound that would indicate the direction he needed to strike. Then he heard it - a harsh chittering noise, coming almost straight from above. Suddenly the dull sense of dread he'd felt since he'd walked out into the darkness was gone - only to be replaced a few heartbeats later by a wave of fear like nothing he'd ever felt before in his long life. Under this new onslaught, Finwë's control at last gave way to panic; he lashed out with all his strength, swinging his arm in a great, sweeping arc - and felt the edge of the sword connect with something hard and then slide off, as though it had hit metal, or a shield.

And suddenly Finwë found himself becoming entangled in some filthy, clinging substance; though he tried desperately to cut himself loose, the sticky material fouled his blade, and despite his efforts his arms were soon pinned helplessly against his sides. He felt himself being lifted up, spinning sickeningly through the air, all sense of direction lost, nothing but Darkness everywhere - followed by the piercing pain of something stabbing brutally into his chest, and a rush of heat as his very blood seemed to turn into fire... As an agony greater than anything he had ever known consumed his senses, Finwë could not prevent himself from screaming in despair.

* * * * * * * 

__

"And though the Trees may shine no more, their Light now dwells within our hearts, and no horrors you unleash shall ever succeed in driving it out of us." When he heard that boastful fool's tortured howl, and the greedy sucking sounds that soon followed it, Melkor could not help but smile. For had not the Lord of Arda promised his servant Light to sate her hunger? Still smiling, he quickly entered the now-abandoned palace. He needed to hurry; his servant would not remain distracted for long, and there was one Light here Melkor was determined to find and keep secret, for he had no intention of ever sharing it with anyone...

(To Be Continued)

Notes:

The names of the characters used in this story are all Quenya, and the meanings of nearly all of them can be found in the essay "The Shibboleth of Fëanor," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ When more than one name is listed for a character, the first name is the father-name, and the second is the mother-name. The Sindarin equivalents of these names are as follows:

Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor

Nelyafinwë Maitimo (nicknamed Russandol) - Maedhros

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Finwë's brother Aldwë is my invention; his name is derived from the Quenya root for tree (alda).

Constellation and Star names - In _The Silmarillion_, the festival Fëanor is summoned to is a harvest festival; the constellations and stars I have Maedhros spotting are ones that actually rise in the late evening in early September in the Northern Hemisphere. Their correct English names are as follows (Quenya names are in parentheses):

The Butterfly (Wilwarin) - Cassiopeia

The Netted Stars (Remmirath) - The Pleiades (a bright star cluster in Taurus). 

The Sickle of the Valar (Valacirca) - the Big Dipper (in Ursa Major); in _The Silmarillion_, Varda is said to have created this asterism as a symbol both of the Valar's challenge to Melkor and of his ultimate downfall.

The Fishhook - to my knowledge, Tolkien never gave this constellation a Quenya name, but anyone who is familiar with the constellation Perseus will understand why my Eldar refer to it by this name.


	4. Nightfall

Disclaimer: The characters and settings are gratefully borrowed from the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing.

Note: As this story is set in Aman, I've chosen to use the character's Quenya names. The equivalent Sindarin forms may be found in the notes at the end of the story.

Thank you, Gwindor, for beta reading!

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Nightfall

By Ithilwen

****

Chapter 4 - Nightfall

How long he lay there, eyes tightly shut, fingers clenching desperately into the ground, shaking in terror, Maitimo never knew for certain. Perhaps an eternity. He only knew that at some point his frantically racing heart gradually began to slow, and his fingers loosened their grip on the earth. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to find that he could see, faintly but unmistakably, a few blades of grass sprouting from the soil. The horrible, smothering Unlight, and the terror that had traveled beneath it, was apparently gone. He pushed himself off the ground, and stood up.

The stars overhead were again luminous; only in the north could the Darkness still be seen, and as Maitimo watched, it gradually receded. When the last of the Unlight was finally gone, he turned his attention away from the sky and looked about in puzzlement. _How far did I run?_ he wondered, for he saw no familiar landmarks; the scrub-covered hills he saw surrounding him, though, provided proof that he had to be somewhere north of Formenos. Using the stars as his guide, hand firmly gripping the pommel of his sword, he began to walk south.

As he walked, Maitimo eventually began to encounter other people, all appearing frightened and exhausted, their faces and hands flecked with dirt and leaves, their clothes ripped from snagging on branches and rocks; a few had been seriously injured in falls and collisions with unseen hard objects during their panicked flight from the city. Little Tyelpinquar had badly wrenched his ankle and could barely walk, and so Maitimo soon found himself carrying his frightened young nephew while he searched in vain for Curufinwëand Callótë. The faint sound of singing drifting on the breeze eventually caught the attention of Maitimo's small band of wanderers; following their ears lead them to a much larger group headed by Makalaurë and Tyelkormo. Tyelkormo, who had frequently hunted in the northern hills, knew exactly where they were. He had set up a makeshift infirmary for the injured under a rocky overhang, and had also sent out people to gather firewood for the purpose of lighting a signal fire on the summit of the tallest nearby hilltop. "We're about 2 leagues north of Formenos," he told his brother while they watched a healer wrap Tyelpinquar's swollen ankle in a makeshift bandage torn from a ruined shirt, "and in their current state, I don't think most of our people can walk that far. So rather than push everyone on towards Formenos, I thought it would be better to stop here and do something eye-catching to attract the attention of everyone who might still be wandering around in these hills. Our brother's voice is certainly loud, but even it only carries so far; that fire should be visible for a long way off, and right now I can't imagine any sight that would be more welcome to frightened people stumbling around in the dark. I'm sure they'll come to it quickly enough. And this is as good a place as any for our people to regroup; there's a small spring in the northern end of this hollow, and even a bit of shelter under the rocks for those who really need it. Later, after everyone has rested for a while and recovered from their fright, they can head back home. In the meantime, I think a few of us who are in the best shape should go back as quickly as possible, both to make sure that whatever it was that came into the city is really gone, and to bring back some supplies for the healers and carts to transport the wounded."

Maitimo nodded his head, impressed. "It's a good plan, little brother. Why don't you start organizing a scouting expedition; we'll head south when Carnil rises over that hilltop. That will give everyone in the scouting party a bit of time to recuperate, too, and with any luck Grandfather and the rest of our brothers might find their way here before we leave. People will feel much safer once Grandfather arrives, and he's certainly had experience in organizing people marching through the wilds in the dark!"

"I think you should stay here, Maitimo," Tyelkormo replied. "I'm stealthier than you are. And until Grandfather comes, leading our people is your responsibility. They need you here."

Maitimo shook his head in negation. "You may be the better hunter, little brother - but I'm the better fighter. I'm fairly sure there's nothing lurking about in Formenos now; whatever that strange cloud was, I saw it heading north - but all the same, I'm not letting you walk into that city with only a few of your huntsmen to protect you. Makalaurë can reassure our people better than I can, anyway - and right now, that's really all that's necessary. No more," he continued, raising his hand to forestall Tyelkormo's as-yet-unspoken protest. "You said it yourself, brother - right now, **I'm** in charge. Like it or not, I'm going with you."

By the time Carnil had climbed over the dark ridge, the remaining sons of Fëanáro had all come straggling into the sheltered valley, drawn (along with many others) by the light of the signal fire. As each missing brother made his appearance, the relief Maitimo felt was increasingly mixed with foreboding, for of his grandfather Finwë there still remained no sign. _Grandfather is no coward; unlike us, he probably stood his ground instead of fleeing like a panicked hare being chased by Oromë's hounds,_ Maitimo told himself firmly. _He's probably back at the palace right now, wondering where everyone else has fled, and a nice job I'm going to have explaining to him why we all reacted like frightened children instead of princes. Well, we'll deserve his censure, after running away because we were afraid of the dark!_ But try though he might, Maitimo could not rid himself of his misgivings; when the scouting party at last set forth, he joined it with a troubled heart.

Even in the relative darkness of the starlight the party made good time, for Tyelkormoknew the terrain well and was able to spot paths Maitimo and the others would have missed. They moved warily, alert for any signs of danger, but encountered nothing more menacing than a few hunting foxes. As they walked, the hills gradually became lower, less rugged, and more widely spaced. Finally, even Maitimo, who had had little time for idle exploration of the countryside, recognized where they were. The scouting party's pace picked up as they began to crest the last hill that stood between them and their home; when they reached the summit, they paused briefly to look at the city that stood below them.

Formenos seemed unchanged; the white stone buildings stood apparently untouched and the still-unfinished Tower of Finwë continued to soar heavenward. The streets were still and quiet; here and there, a flicker of light shone from a door or an open window in homes where an oil lamp remained lit or the hearthfire had not yet burned completely out. There was no sign of the terrible Unlight, and the sense of terror and palpable evil that they'd previously felt was absent. But as the scouting party carefully descended from the hilltop, Maitimo looked again towards the great tower he'd helped to create - and his heart suddenly froze. For red Carnil now rested directly over the tower's still-unfinished height, and for a brief, irrational moment it seemed to Maitimo as though the tower was lit by a beacon of blood. _Stop it! It's just a star; nothing more, _he said to himself as he forced his eyes away from the tower and resumed his descent. But though he knew his feelings were irrational, he nonetheless found himself dreading what they would find when they entered Formenos.

It was not until the scouting expedition actually entered the city proper and began cautiously exploring that they found the first signs of something amiss. Throughout the city, strands of a strange dark material were draped from the rooftops and hanging from the trees in the courtyards and gardens. Foul-smelling and sticky, in places the black ropes almost appeared to be woven into a crude net of sorts; moths, fireflies, and other small insects that had apparently blundered against the substance were stuck to its surface. _Like a monstrous spiderweb,_ Maitimo thought as the party moved cautiously towards the city's heart, swords drawn,_ but no spider ever spun such filth as this. What was hiding inside that terrible cloud?_

The horrible webbing became more abundant as they moved into the center of Formenos; to Maitimo's and Tyelkormo'sdisgust, the entire palace was thickly draped with it. They had to use their swords to hack their way into the courtyard, forced to cut dense mats of the filth down in order to advance without becoming entrapped, as though they were moving through the tangled undergrowth of some hideous wilderness. So intently were they concentrating on avoiding contact with the sticky ropes draped across the courtyard that they nearly missed the crumpled figure lying broken and discarded a mere few feet from the doorway to the palace hall.

The foreboding that had filled Maitimo's heart did nothing to lesson the sickening shock he felt at the sight of his grandfather's pale and motionless hröa. Although he was not the avid hunter his brother Tyelkormo was, he had witnessed the outcome of enough successful chases to recognize death when he encountered it. But the still, lifeless forms Maitimo had seen before had been those of animals; never had he seen an Elven hröa lying so empty and abandoned. And this was Aman, where the Valar had promised they would live in safety; surely such violent death as had stalked the Elves in the dark lands of their birth could never follow them here. "Grandfather?" he whispered as he knelt down and reached out to touch Finwë's face, which was blanketed under the sticky webbing. His flesh was cold, and as Maitimo's gentle touch brushed the webbing aside, Finwë's now-dulled eyes came into view, staring sightlessly up at the stars_. "Varda made the stars, as a sign of her love and care for us," you used to say, _Maitimo thought, his tears mercifully blurring the sight of those vacant grey eyes gazing beseechingly towards the heavens. _Where was she, Grandfather, when you needed her protection? How could the Valar allow this to happen to you?_

It took an effort of will to control his tears, but as he stared at his beloved grandfather's still form, Maitimo came to a painful realization. With his father absent and Finwë slain, **he **was the one the others would now look to for guidance, and he should not disgrace his grandfather's memory by indulging his grief now, for when had his grandfather ever allowed his private feelings to interfere with his duties towards his people? The time for weeping would come later; for now, there was work to do. "Go to the stables," he told his brother, whose own face was pale with shock, "and start harnessing the horses; we're going to need to take far more supplies back with us than we'd originally planned on." Straightening up again, he looked around the courtyard, half-buried in disgusting black webs. "No one is going to want to return here," he remarked quietly. "We'll need food enough for the journey back to Tirion, and a few empty carts to transport those who can't walk. The King is no longer wearing Father's circlet; I hope that merely means he returned it to its hold before he was struck down. I'll go look for the Silmarils, and remove this filth from the King's body, and then I'll come join you. We'll lay his hröa to rest properly once we're ready to leave."

Tyelkormo nodded silently, and turned to leave, signaling for the rest of the party to join him. As he started to depart, he tripped over something that lay hidden beneath the webs in the center of the courtyard: a heavy iron casket, lying empty and discarded on the ground, its sturdy lock broken. The very casket, Maitimo realized, that their father Fëanáro had long ago crafted to hold the beautiful circlet in which he'd set the Silmarils. The brilliant gems, like the Noldor's King, were gone.

The Light was lost from their world.

* * * * * * *

They buried Finwë's body at the foot of the half-completed tower Fëanáro had named for him, the only structure in Formenos which had remained untouched by the dirty webbing that blanketed the rest of the city. _It will serve as a fitting monument to my grandfather; for like him, it is magnificent and imposing, soaring high over all, and also like him, it has reached its end before its time,_ Maitimo thought sadly as he completed the simple cairn over his grandfather's grave. Then, after one last look at their once-beautiful city, the scouting party turned to leave it forever.

When they reached the edge of Formenos, Maitimo halted the wagon he was driving; after handing the reins over to the startled huntsman sitting beside him, he jumped down from the wagon and untethered one of the spare horses they'd tied behind it. He mounted hurriedly, and rode over to Tyelkormo's wagon. "Tell Makalaurë I said to head directly to Tirion as quickly as possible. I'll tell the others you're coming, so they'll have aid ready when our people arrive."

"Maitimo, what do you think you're doing?" Tyelkormo replied. "You need to come back with us now; we'll send a messenger to Tirion later."

"Grandfather Finwë is dead; our father is King of the Noldor now. And the Silmarils, **his** Silmarils, have been stolen," Maitimo replied. "Do you really think that is news that should be delivered by a mere messenger, brother?"

After a moment, Tyelkormo slowly replied, "Perhaps not. But you're the eldest, and so you should stay here, Maitimo, to lead our people on the journey back. One of the rest of us should go instead."

"How do you think Father is going to take this news, Tyelkormo? Do **you** want to be the one who tells him how we all ran away in panic and left Grandfather alone to face whatever thing it was that slew him? Do **you** want to tell him that his father is dead, and that his beloved Silmarils are gone, too? Neither do I," Maitimo said after a long pause, during which Tyelkormo's silence spoke more loudly than any words could have. "And that's why I'm going. As you said, I'm the eldest of us - and that means there are some tasks that fall to me, and that I can't shirk no matter how badly I might wish to. I'll ride back as soon as I can, so take the most direct route possible; that way I'll be able to find you easily. Take care, little brother."

With that, Maitimo wheeled his horse about and sped away into the blackness, heading south for Taniquetil and Tirion, to bear news of the disaster to those whose ancient promises of safety and protection had proven in the end to be naught but empty words, and to his father Fëanáro, whose heart he would so soon shatter with his account of the loss of the first, last, and greatest lights in his father's life, his sire and his stones. It would be a long and wearing journey, Maitimo knew, following a bleak path lit only by the harsh, cold rays of Varda's cruelly mocking stars.

Notes:

The names of the characters used in this story are all Quenya, and the meanings of nearly all of them can be found in the essay "The Shibboleth of Fëanor," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ When more than one name is listed for a character, the first name is the father-name, and the second is the mother-name. The Sindarin equivalents of these names are as follows:

Curufinwë Fëanáro - Fëanor

Nelyafinwë Maitimo (nicknamed Russandol) - Maedhros

Makalaurë - Maglor

Tyelkormo - Celegorm

Carnistir - Caranthir

Tyelpinquar - Celebrimbor (from the essay "Of Dwarves and Men," _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12), _p 318) (Tyelpo is a shortened form)

Maglor's and Curufin's wives are mentioned in the essay "Of Dwarves and Men," published in _The Peoples of Middle Earth (History of Middle Earth, vol. 12)._ However, we are never told anything significant about them, other than that Curufin's wife remained behind in Aman when the Noldor rebelled; they are not even given any names. I have therefore had to choose appropriate names for them. The name Aurel means 'morning star,' and Callöté is Quenya for 'shining flower'. Thanks go to Artanis for suggesting these names.

Carnil - this red star is mentioned in _The Silmarillion_, but not specifically identified; I have associated the name with Aldebaran, the bright red star in Taurus which rises shortly after the Pleiades.

Maitimo being the messenger to the Valar - in _The Silmarillion_, we are told only that the tidings of Finwë's death and the theft of the Silmarils were brought to the Valar by "messengers from Formenos"; however, in the account given in _Morgoth's Ring (The History of Middle Earth, vol. 10)_, Tolkien has the message being delivered by the sons of Fëanor, and it's Maedhros who does the speaking. I've chosen to adopt the idea of Maedhros as the messenger for obvious dramatic purposes, although the events in this tale unfold a bit differently than the ones recounted in _Morgoth's Ring_. 

This story was first published on December 4, 2002.


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